Halloween
by Horrorfana
Summary: It's Halloween in 1963. Sam and Mary are out looking for something to do. Unfortunately, so is Bloodyface.


Sam hurried her pace to catch up to her younger, yet taller, sister. After a few moments, Sam caught up with Mary. Sam's costume was all pink, with a drop of fake blood by her mouth, a plastic meat cleaver, and pink animal ears on her head. Mary's costume was a simple black tattered dress.

"Would it kill you to slow down?"

Mary huffed, "Some of us are normal height, you need to grow a few inches."

Sam held her tongue to avoid a dispute. She opted instead to change the subject. "Where are we going anyway? Mom wants us back by eleven."

Mary beamed in excitement. "You know that old house on sixth street?"

"Yeah, what about?"

"Well...Katie dared me to go there for the night...or was it sixteenth street? We'll try both."

"Going up to an abandoned building, alone, in the dead of night? Sure, that sounds completely safe and rational." Sam said sarcastically.

"Chicken."

Sam narrowed her eyes. "Why are we going? I would've thought after the chainsaw incident..."

Mary stopped and turned to Sam. "You swore not to speak of that again! It was a long time ago..."

"Last year."

"I was ambushed..."

"He was a slow moving actor with a plastic toy."

"The effects were so real..."

"The blood was bright blue."

"And I just jumped a little, that's all."

"He waved at you and you bolted out of the amusement park, then you made me sleep in your bed for two weeks."

Mary shook her head and resumed walking with Sam following closely behind. "Its behind me now. I'm not going to freak out or anything."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to do this? You kick in your sleep."

Mary smirked. "You know, I'm starting to wonder if you're scared. I mean, twenty two and you're too chicken to spend Halloween alone."

Sam chuckled. "I was hearing about serial killers when I was eight, somehow I doubt this will traumatize me. Besides, mom's worried about you. She doesn't want you wandering off to a party or anything."

"What's the big fuss? I just had a few drinks at prom. Seventeen isn't too far off of legal. Not exactly reason to be a nark."

Mary stopped in front of the eerie looking, long abandoned house. She excitedly pulled her older sister along and across the front yard, to the front door. She rang the doorbell and waited patiently. After a few minutes of silence, Sam shrugged.

"Guess nobodies home, lets go."

Mary smirked, "What's wrong? Are you scared that the boogyman's in there or something?"

Sam shot Mary a look before forcing the front door open. Once inside, Sam looked around in wonder and excitement. "This looks like something Poe would write."

Mary rolled her eyes and took in the ancient front room, now littered with dust and cobwebs. "This is so square. Let's head upstairs."

Before Sam could respond, Mary had already begun running up the creaky staircase. Sam anxiously paced around the large room as she waited on her sister to finish. There was a loud creak that came from upstairs that made Sam feel uneasy. She decided to wait by the front door as a precaution. However, when she reached the front door, she heard what sounded like a faint whimper followed by a thump come from upstairs and echoed throughout the house.

Sam pursed her lips before calling out, "Stop messing around and come back down!"

Silence.

She waited for several minutes in complete silence, growing more anxious by the moment.

Frustrated, Sam stormed out of the front room. She decided against indulging her sisters antics so rather than heading upstairs, she decided to wander into the kitchen. It was barely illuminated by moonlight pouring in through a large window. When she reached the kitchen, she heard a faint dripping noise. At first, she shrugged to herself and figured it must by the faucet across the room. So Sam walked over to the dust coated kitchen table and took a seat. Sam glanced at her plastic cleaver and tossed it onto the kitchen table.

The dripping continued for several minutes to the point where Sam had reached her wits end. She pushed herself from the table and stormed over to the porcelain sink against the wall. Once she reached it, Sam tightened the handles to stop the dripping. She stayed to watch the sink for any further drips and crossed her arms, almost daring the sink to continue to drip.

Imagine her surprise when the dripping sounds returned, although the sink was dry as a bone.

Sam paled slightly as she turned around and slowly began to follow the noise to the source of the dripping.

She was able to finally track down the source, the pantry.

Against her better judgement, she grasped the handle and yanked the door wide open.

The darkness was working against her, as she couldn't see anything in said cabinet.

Sam turned back around and began to search the various drawers around the kitchen for a source of light. Unable to find anything, Sam was about to give up and leave the kitchen altogether, when a glint of metal caught the corner of her eye. Sam tuned around to find a metal lighter laying on the counter. Sam picked it up and lit a small flame, not enough to illunminate the dark room, but enough to see a few inches in front of her fairly clearly.

She smiled in satisfaction as she approached the open pantry.

Sam held up the lighter to see inside.

The darkness was illuminated to reveal the fresh corpse of her teenage sister, the throat sliced open with blood lazily trailing down her body to her feet, where it was slowly dripping to the floor.

Sam surpressed a scream by covering her mouth with her free hand. Summoning courage, Sam lowered the lighter to find she was standing in a small pool of her sisters dark blood. A hand on her shoulder made Sam do three things:

It made her scream.

It made her jump in surprise and horror.

And it made her drop the lighter, extinguishing the flame and leaving her in darkness.

...

Blur. It was all a blur. Sam held no recollection of how she entered the world of unconsciousness, but that was the least of her concerns at the moment. Her vision was a blur of white. Her eyes felt as though they weighed as much as stones. Sam's exhausted limbs threatened to lull her back to sleep, but she fought against the warm embrace of unconsciousness.

After what felt like hours, but was likely only a matter of minutes, Sam was able to force herself awake. She groggily took in the unfamiliar room she found herself in. Everything was a pristine white, spotless. Well, almost everything was white, as the wall lined with various sharp instruments proved. Sam paled and struggled to lift her head, only to feel as though it was filled with cotton. The strain proved to much and Sam surrendered, allowing her head to drop back onto the pillow below.

However, Sam was able to look down at herself, though it didn't reveal much to her. For she covered to the neck with a white blanket. As the minutes passed, her head slowly began to clear, and she began to discover more and more. She gathered that she was on some sort of metal table, based on the glint of metal by the pillow.

She also realized that because she could feel the coolness of metal against her back, she must be without clothing.

This revelation caused Sam to panic. She jerked her arm, only to find it was being securely held against the table by some form of restraint. She tried her other arm, her legs, all held firmly against the table and no matter how hard she pulled, they refused to come loose.

Sam screamed out in desperation, hoping that someone passing by would hear her pleading cries for help and to contact the proper authorities. But it was all in vain. A part of her knew that no one would pass by whatever place she was in, no one would find her, and no one would alert the police. As the hours passed with her waiting, for something, anything to happen, Sam slowly began to lose hope.

What if no one came? What if they left her alone in this place to starve to death? What if...?

The sounds of a door opening, closing, and footsteps approaching cut off her train of thought. Sam decided against crying out, with hope whoever it was might release her from her current predicament. A man came into her line of sight. To Sam's dismay, he seemed...normal. No scars, no birth defects, no devils eyes. A normal man with normal glasses.

Sam swallowed and spoke before she lost her courage. "Wha...what do you want with me?"

The man smiled and calmly strode over to the table. He gently pushed a lock of hair away from Sam's face to behind her ear. "This time will be different, I can feel it. You're different. Aren't you?"

Sam looked at the man in utter confusion, but decided it would be to her benefit if she played along. She looked the man in the eye and nodded. "I'm different."

The mans face lit up in excitement. "I knew it."

Sam inwardly breathed a sigh of relief and decided to see how far she could go with this. "You were right. What happens now?"

The man paused thoughtfully before he gently began to stroke the side of Sam's face. The man stared at his hand, transfixed. "You have such beautiful skin, so soft."

Sam wasn't sure how to respond to a statement like that, in her current situation, so she simply responded, "Thank you. I...I don't wear makeup like most girls."

The man trailed his hand down to Sam's neck and gently stroked the skin there. "My name is Oliver."

With a slight stutter to her words, Sam responded, "Alright...Oliver. What will you do with me?"

He ignored her question. "I've missed you, Mommy."

Sam got slightly wide eyed at that statement. Thoughts raced through her mind at what he could possibly mean, and what his intentions could be. None of the various scenarios her mind concocted were pleasant in the least.

The words stumbled out before she could use her better judgement and stop them. "But Oliver, I'm not your mother."

Oliver turned his gaze from his hand, to look Sam dead in the eyes. His glare promised nothing good would come of this night. Sam began to softly tremble under his glare, which didn't go unnoticed by Oliver. Not breaking eye contact, he reached under the blanket and trailed his hand along Sam's right arm.

He spoke to her in a firm yet threatening voice. "I'm well aware. You may not be, but you are. Aren't you?"

Sam shakily responded, deciding anything was better than seeing her captor angry, as it can only lead to terrible things. "I suppose...I am."

Oliver narrowed his eyes at Sam. "Then say it."

"I'm your mother Oliver, I'm different, you were right."

Oliver relaxed slightly and the smile returned to his face. "I knew it."

He then looked back down to the top of the blanket before he gently tugged it down to her stomach. Sam stared at Oliver wide eyed in sheer horror as his eyes lingered on her chest. Desperate to end things before they began, Sam blurted out the first thing on her mind.

"Oliver, baby, I'm hungry, I was out for a long time and now Mommy's hungry. May I have something to eat?"

Oliver returned his gaze back to Sam's face and he looked at her apologetically. "I'm so sorry, I didn't think...none of the others..."

Sam struggled to speak in a calm voice. "Its alright, but I'm different, remember? You said so yourself."

"What would you like?"

Unable to think of much on a moments notice, Sam decided on her personal favorite. "Grilled cheese and tomato soup should be a good snack for mommy, don't you agree?"

Oliver grinned excitedly. "I know a great recipe, I'll be right back."

Oliver began to quickly walk away from Sam, to the staircase. She called out, "Take your time!" Oliver turned to her and raised an eyebrow, to which Sam carefully added, "Don't want you to burn yourself in the kitchen."

The grin returned to his face and her looked at Sam lovingly. "I'll be careful." With that, he quickly ascended the stairs, opened the door, left the basement, and slammed the door behind him.

Sam breathed an uneasy sigh of relief. She had bought herself some time, not much, she figured an hour, maybe two at best, but it was something. And something is always better than nothing.

About an hour later, Oliver returned, now carrying a tray with a bowl, plate, and glass on it. He smiled happily as he set the tray on a small metal table nearby. Sam spoke up as a pleasant thought occurred to her.

"But Oliver, baby, how will I eat if I'm lying down?"

Oliver pauses and looks over at Sam longingly. "I suppose I could..." He trailed off before walking over to the wall with the various sharp tools and instruments. However, much to Sam's relief, he picked up a syringe from the table underneath.

Sam gulped. "What's that?"

Sam bit her bottom lip when Oliver approached her with the syringe in hand. He stopped beside her left arm and held up the syringe. He checked for any bubbles before carefully injecting Sam in the crook of her arm. She had to fight to stay calm and still throughout. Once finished, Oliver gently stroked the side of Sam's face.

"Its just something to help you relax."

After a few minutes, Sam slowly felt her limbs grow heavy once more and her brain fill with cotton. Satisfied, Oliver carefully unbuckled the restraints around Sam's wrists and ankles. He then scooped her up in his arms and turned towards the stairs. He swiftly ascended the stairs, seemingly unfazed by Sam's weight. Oliver struggled for a moment to open the door, but once he did he carried Sam out of the basement, through a hallway, a living room, and into the kitchen. He gently set her down in a seat at the kitchen table before turning around and walking back to the basement.

Sam struggled with all her might to make a sound. A whimper, a cry, a scream, a plea for help, so that someone might pass by and might hear her pleas, then they might call the authorities who might get there in time. A lot of might's. Especially considering Sam was too weak to move, let alone speak. No one would hear her, no one would ever know, she was trapped. Trapped forever in this hell of a home with a man who has most likely done this very thing many times before. Its a damned miracle she hasn't been slaughtered yet.

Oliver returned to the kitchen with the tray of food and carefully set it down in front of Sam. He grabbed a seat and pulled it over to sit right beside Sam. Oliver picked up the sandwich and held it up to Sam's mouth. She hesitantly took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. Oliver smiled happily.

"Good? The secret is nutmeg, its culinary gold."

Oliver set down the sandwich and picked up the spoon. He filled it with the tomato soup before raising it to Sam's lips. She took the sip and swallowed, much to Oliver's delight. He picked the sandwich back up and raised it to Sam's mouth once more. She took the bite and Oliver spoke up.

"The perfect mommy snack."

Sam swallowed the bite.

Some time later, Oliver took the empty dishes and walked over to the sink. He quickly cleaned them off before returning to Sam. Oliver scooped her into his arms and carried her back through the living room, down the hallway, through the door, down the stairs into the basement. He walked over to the large metal table and carefully laid Sam back down on top of it. She shivered slightly at the cold metal touching her bare skin once more. Oliver noticed and picked the blanket back up. He covered Sam once more to her stomach.

Oliver leaned over and hesitantly placed a soft kiss on Sam's lips, after a moment, he deepened the kiss and Sam let out a soft whimper. Oliver moved down to Sam's neck and he began to trail kisses down her throat. Sam began to tremble slightly and tears slowly made their way down her face, only to land downwards into her hair. Oliver looked up at Sam's tear filled eyes. After a moment he stood back up and narrowed his eyes at Sam.

"I thought you were different."

Sam paled. "I am."

Oliver gently swiped his thumb under Sam's eyes, gathering the tears there. A moment of complete and utter silence passes between them before Sam began struggling to get off the table. Oliver immediately snatched her right arm and pins it down against the table. With his free hand, he easily buckled the restraint around her right wrist, all the while ignoring her attempts to free herself from his vice like grip.

Sam looked at Oliver pleadingly. "Please, Oliver, don't do this..."

He ignored her in favor of snatching her left arm, pinning it to the table, and fastening the restraint around her left wrist. Sam allowed her bode to slump against the table in defeat as Oliver moved down to restrain her ankles to the table. Oliver then stood and calmly walked around the table, over to the wall with the various sharp tools and instruments.

He ran his fingers over a few tools before he grabbed a black, rubber apron hanging directly beside the array of tools. Oliver slipped it on over his had and tied it on. Sam whimpered in sheer terror before she was able to force herself to speak.

"What happens now?"

Oliver calmly answered as he removed his glasses and set them on the table. "If you really must know, you have beautiful skin. I fully intend on keeping it as long as possible." Sam's mind raced as she struggled to piece together Oliver's possible intentions.

However, those questions were answered when Oliver selected a scalpel from the wall. Oliver grabbed a bulk of flesh from a drawer and pulled it on over his head. Sam began to tremble and when Oliver turned to face her, she was unable to hold back the piercing scream that built in her throat. Oliver ignored her and strode over to the large metal table. He grabbed the end of the blanket covering Sam and in one swift move, pulled it from her body, exposing her once more.

Sam continued to alternate between screaming and pleading for her life as Oliver moved the scalpel to hover just an inch from her left thigh. Oliver turned to look at Sam, who was now whimpering in fear.

Oliver gently stroked her thigh with his free hand and stated calmly, almost clinically, "The first cuts will be the worst. After a few minutes, the pain will fade as your body goes into shock, after a few hours, you'll likely bleed to death."

Sam sniffled back more sobs as she watched in horror as Oliver carefully lowered the scalpel to her thigh.


End file.
